


Zugzwang

by MournfulSeverity



Series: Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Canonical Character Death, Death, Grief/Mourning, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24342076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MournfulSeverity/pseuds/MournfulSeverity
Summary: In a world where Lord Voldemort survives and Harry does not, Draco is just trying to keep his head above water. Trying to stay alive with a world and a Master who wants his very kind dead. He's lost everything else. He can't lose Ron too.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley
Series: Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685365
Kudos: 16





	Zugzwang

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing
> 
> QLFC required info found at the bottom.
> 
> Gigantic thanks to my betas, VanillaAshes and Cupcakeyyy.

**Zugzwang — The obligation to move, when any move at all will be bad.**

* * *

The world outside seemed greyer somehow, more than it had ever been before the Battle of Hogwarts. It was as if the clouds were weighed down by loss and not rain. But, it was more than that. More than an impending storm on a summer morning, because even when the clouds cleared, the sky behind looked dull, hollow. Or maybe it was just Draco.

It had been three years. Three years since the final fight. Three years since Potter sacrificed himself. Three years since Voldemort won. A lot had happened in three years, and Draco was ashamed to be a part of it.

Ashamed, because they had lost more than just Potter.

Few had left the castle alive, at least those that weren't pureblood like him. He knew some had escaped, had hidden themselves in shadowed corners and waited for the sweeping of the castle to pass, and when they had left, those shadows hadn't passed. They still lived in the darkness of fear. Hiding. Waiting. But that was no life at all.

Granger hadn't been among those that had escaped. They'd taken her first, used her as an example. All the knowledge she had of magic had been held against her, lashed across her skin until she was no more. Far too many others had followed. Witches and wizards that Draco had known, had sat beside during classes and meals. He'd watched them all as they were reduced to crimson puddles and unmoving, tattered flesh. What had once been a person, suddenly was no more.

He could still hear the screams, the wavering voices of agony stretching out into the sky of that May morning.

They came in the darkest of night, teasing at the edges of his sleep until they tortured him long into his dreams and he saw his following days in red.

There was a burn along the skin of his left arm, the pain of a reminder rather than a call. It pulled him away from his thoughts, the window, and the beginning shadows of dawn.

It was just as well. He didn't need to see the emptiness in the sky. He lived with it inside himself every day. Lived with the anguish that had filled the hollow cavern inside him which had once held other ambitions. Stubbornness. Supremacy. A hunger for power. He had been so very wrong.

But, it was more than that. It was all the things he could not be, could not say even to himself. And it was _him,_ the boy Draco had never been worthy of, especially now.

Draco turned on the spot, the magic of apparition swallowing him whole, pulling apart the pieces of him that remained before it deposited him at the manor that had once been his home.

It was the same as he had remembered it in his childhood — the grandeur of the exterior walls towering over him, the ivy that had grown along them. The black of it was darker still beneath the grey sky, orange only just cresting the mountains and breaking through the solemn, heavy clouds.

He strode forward, his footsteps heavy as he approached a place that was no longer familiar — not in the way it had once been.

There had been so many deaths and his parents had been among them. Executed for their betrayal. A death, for them, that had come only after hours of torture. Hours that Draco had been a witness to.

And he'd lost the manor too. The final connection to his childhood, to love, to anything that had been good in his life. He had sacrificed it all the same day he had allowed the Dark Mark to be burned into his skin. The mark he was a slave to.

Every call, every thought the Dark Lord wished to share pulled Draco from his bed, from his drink, any activity that he had dared indulge in. His life was permanently interrupted, gone. And today, as he crossed the threshold of the Manor's door, it was no different.

"Draco, you came." The Dark Lord gave a feigned attempt at a smile, only enough to pacify his followers, to ensure that _this_ was the right decision, _their_ decision. His voice was welcoming as he spoke, the sickly sweet sound of chocolate liqueur, satisfying to indulge in, but soon enough it became too much. And, he spoke, as if Draco had a choice in the matter. As though death wasn't the only other option.

Draco gave an incline of his head, a silent greeting. He wasn't asked to speak and daren't try. He was here as a servant, to find the next victim, to carry out the next murder, anything else was unnecessary.

The Dark Lord's attention was pulled from him and he looked, instead, at the Death Eaters seated at the table. The table that had once held family dinners and was now the center for more devious conversations.

These were not the Death Eaters his father had known, many of them were new, and were people Draco had shared Slytherin house with. It was not only the light side who had left the permanent shade of blood on the Hogwarts grounds. In many ways, this was a new war. The soldiers were different than before, even though the goal was the same.

"The Weasleys have sparked our attention once more," the Dark Lord began, looking at all of them and none of them at once. "Percy Weasley, perhaps best known for his work inside the Ministry prior to our control, was found intertwined with another man."

"Fucking poof," came a whisper, spoken to the wood of the table.

The Dark Lord smiled, shared hatred was the only allowed response and Crabbe had given it.

Draco looked away, the anger, the shame too close to the surface for him to hide.

"The Marriage Relations arm of the Ministry has asked him to come forward, to provide an answer for his crime. He has ignored us, and now I must ask you all for his capture."

Death. Death because Percy _dared_ to allow himself a sliver of love, some comfort in this uncomfortable, excruciating world. Persecution because this meant Percy was unlike to father a child, to continue his magic line — even if he was a blood traitor.

The Dark Lord's voice broke his thoughts once more. "Activity has been spotted at the Weasley home in Devon. It seems they have been foolish enough to deem it safe enough for their return. I am still awaiting knowledge about their whereabouts these past three years, but if today goes as planned, that information may be unnecessary." There was a pause, an inhale of breath before he added; "you will bring him to me."

There was a cacophony of chairs scraping against the wood of the floor, a joke shared at Percy's expense that Draco caught only the tail end of. And then they were off in a flurry of disapparations, Draco among them.

He landed among the grassy hills of Ottery St. Catchpole. It was still early in the morning and the half muggle town was asleep around him, oblivious to what was about to happen, to Draco's presence and the various apparitions of those who appeared behind him. Knights ready for a fight. The men that had accompanied Draco stepped forward, down the grassy knoll and towards the crooked house that sat nestled between the hills, a small garden sprawling behind it.

Draco had never been to the Burrow, but he'd heard his father speak of it. Of the ramshackle walls, poverty that even magic couldn't fix. And although Draco knew that magic was there, that the beams of the house were held together by spells rather than muggle nails and plaster, it looked as though it could be overcome by a light breeze. He was sure it could be overcome by the group of Death Eaters that trudged towards it. The family inside didn't stand a chance.

"Malfoy!" A voice called to him from the crowd, gruff and aged. It was not a Death Eater that Draco knew well enough to name, but they knew of him. He was pulled forward by his name, moving across the board, the battlefield. He had no other choice.

He clung to the edges of the group gazing at their surroundings. His eyes were always scanning for an escape, for some excuse not to be there, but this time he searched for more. He searched for a warning he could give the Weasleys, searched for time for them to escape. He wished then that he had a time turner, but fate had other plans.

There was a shriek, tearing across the empty land, through the strands of wheat that waved along the edges of a small lake. It was high pitched, feminine. A battle cry. Sparks ignited, the spells of friend and foe becoming one.

Ginny stood at the front of her redheaded family, although her brothers tried to hold her back. Her eyes held a flame of fury that even from a distance Draco could see. And she had every right.

"It's my family!" She shouted with a spurt of blue. The spell collided with Zabini's chest, sending him to the ground in an unconscious heap. The men beside him retaliated and Draco saw only her mouth move, any words that had fallen from her lips lost inside the chaos.

And then there was Ron.

He appeared from behind, shoving her to the side as a stream of green, an Avada Kedavra collided where she had stood.

A _Protego_ appeared around them, a reaction spurred by Draco's own heart. He had woven his way through the crowd, had been driven forward automatically, his thoughts and his feet having carried him in different directions

"What the fuck are you doing, Malf?" Goyle spat, breaking Draco's concentration. Breaking the spell.

"We need them alive! The Dark Lord said as much." It was the truth just as much as it was an excuse. There were so few of them left. With as many Half and Mudbloods the Dark Lord had killed, the wizarding existence was diminishing. Little more than the Sacred Twenty eight remained and with the casualties the war had brought, it was more like the Sacred Seventeen. The Weasleys were one of the few families on that list.

The Weasley family was large, even without Fred among their ranks. They were numerous, and they were skilled. They wouldn't go down without a fight, and they wouldn't let another one of them be taken. They'd never sacrifice Percy to save themselves.

They were here to kill Percy and only Percy. Kill him, because he could not create children if he spent his time with men. Children who were vital to sustaining the wizarding world after the Dark Lord's actions.

It was that thought that occupied Draco through the battle. It was that thought, because Draco was the same.

There had been women in his life, yes. There was Pansy and Astoria, but his heart had always strayed elsewhere, had always admired the broader shoulders a man carried and the definitions of their chest. Most recently, he'd admired one man in particular. One that was freckled and ginger haired, one that started at him now with deserved hatred.

"Harry was right about you."

The words carried through the sound of spoken spells and cries of pain. They were spoken with a violence he knew Ron didn't hold within him, at least, he hadn't three years ago. Now, Draco could see the _Crucio_ burning in Ron's thoughts, the desire he felt to use it following closely behind.

Draco couldn't move. He was stuck. Trapped on the line between white and black, light and dark, right and wrong. He could not push his pieces any further, could not allow his king to be captured, but he felt that no matter what he did, he was vulnerable.

He couldn't raise his arm and cast a fatal spell. He couldn't imagine harming the man across from him and he couldn't side with the light. Instead, he let Ron's spells fall across him, felt the heat of his anger beneath the sparks that burned him

"Expelliarmus!" Draco cried in response, the wand tumbling from Ron's fingers and towards the ground beneath him. Draco didn't move, didn't reach for it. He wouldn't leave Ron defenseless, not now. The disarming spell was only a distraction, an attempt to buy himself some time.

"He was," Draco solemnly agreed, his wand slack at his side. Potter had _always_ been right about him.

There was a flash of white. It slid in front of Draco, the sparks of it dull, a spell that had been misdirected, had ricocheted. Draco could tell by its appearance that it hadn't been directed here. The magic behind it was weak, but it was enough.

Draco saw blood soak through the sleeve of Ron's shirt, a gash having appeared on his arm beneath the fabric. It only made Ron angrier.

He snatched his wand from the ground and the spells came, wordlessly, one after the other. Draco only held them at bay. Ron moved that way **.** Draco moved this **.** It was a game of chess that Draco had long ago mastered. Edging their way across a board only Draco could see. He nearly let Ron win, nearly let him have his king for no reason other than that he deserved the failure.

" _He's not here!"_ A voice that seemed so far away shouted.

Draco's spells stopped, his tongue, so ready to twist around another, now pausing in his mouth. He gave a jerk of his head, his eyes scanning the crowd. The red of the Weasleys who had once stood in a group were now interspersed among the Death Eaters.

He counted them, added them to his ever-shrinking list of who had survived. _Ginny, George, Bill…_ There was no Percy.

"It's an ambu-!" Draco began, the words fleeing him in urgency before his tongue snapped to the roof of his mouth, the remaining letters exiting him in a mumble.

He felt the tip of a wand press into his throat and Draco turned ever so slowly. _Checkmate._

He faced Ron, watching his chest rise and fall, out of breath from anger, saw the red burning in his cheeks. Draco tried to plead with him, begged him not to do this, tried to tell Ron that he was better, that he didn't have to stoop to his level, but it came out as a tangle of letters, a prolonged "hmm". He had nothing.

"You always had to take everything from me, didn't you? My friends, _my family!_ Even bloody Quidditch!" Ron jerked his wand sideways and Draco felt the spell on his tongue release.

"I'm… I'm sorry," he stumbled through the numbness of his mouth. And he was. Ron was right. "I never meant… "

His vision was overcome, filled with a green he had become too familiar with, that he had cast on occasion. But, this time, it met Ron, and Draco was too late. He was always too late.

Ron fell forward, his body limp. Empty.

Draco heard a cry tear it's way from his throat as he fell to the grass alongside him. He clung to Ron's shoulders, shaking the man, urging him to wake from this eternal sleep. Every part of Draco burned with a fury that had been building for years, but just as quickly as it had come to him in that moment, it was gone. He was nothing but agony and a puddle of things he could have done differently.

This was another loss he could have stopped. Another loss that fell across his shoulders and weighed him down. And Draco couldn't do it any longer.

He would not be a pawn in a war that he could not win, and he would not be in a world that was so fucking hollow.

**Author's Note:**

> Title/Link: Zugzwang
> 
> Team: Pride of Portree
> 
> Position: Beater 1
> 
> Prompts: Draco, hollow, Ron
> 
> Summary: In a world where Lord Voldemort survives and Harry does not, Draco is just trying to keep his head above water. Trying to stay alive with a world and a Master who wants his very kind dead. He's lost everything else. He can't lose Ron too.


End file.
